


Surrender: A Collection

by daretogobeyondtheunknown



Category: Saving Hope
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 14:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11808240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daretogobeyondtheunknown/pseuds/daretogobeyondtheunknown
Summary: sometimes, the greatest dreams are the ones your heart fears- r.m. drake





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > sometimes, the greatest dreams are the ones your heart fears
>> 
>> \- r.m. drake

It burns.

Like a fire from the inside, it consumes you, leaves you suffocating, breathless. She does this to you with each sideways glance, each lingering touch.

You wish it would just stop. You’re tired, weary and in need of rest. Yet each moment is spent, writhing in pain and dying all the more. But death will not come because nothing about this fire is merciful. Where it burns, it heals _just enough_ , like a thin tie of life support.

“Dr. Lin, you have a consult-”

Years ago, before she walked into your life, all burning and no reprieve, you made an oath. To love, to serve and to protect. To take up the mantle your father left behind because if not that then what? It’s all you’ve ever known.

You made an oath.

Sometimes you wish you didn’t believe in loyalties and promises and commitments. Sometimes you wish you didn’t believe in forgiveness and love and hope. It would be easier if you didn’t.

But you do.

“Dr. Lin?”

If you didn’t, there is a place in South America you remember visiting as a child. You think it would be perfect to disappear to. Not a care in the world, just you and the endless shades of greens and browns and blues.

Exhaling slowly, you count. Backwards from ten, something simple because simple feels elusive.

“Thank you, Dr. Scott. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Maybe in that moment, you’ll heal and the lingering touches of the flames will fade.

It won’t. Because when has _anything_ Sydney Katz ever done healed or faded in your life?

* * *

“Dr. Scott is worried about you.”

You turn into the lumpy pillow hoping its bland scent will envelope you. Together, you can be nothingness and the sound of her voice will fade. A plan of perfection, apt to succeed if you will it so.

“Maggie?”

Of course, it’s Sydney Katz and you are _weak._ So very weak and in love. It scares you how in love you feel, how the mere thought of another human being can bring such nirvana intertwined with utter anguish.

“I feel like I’m on fire. You make me feel like I’m on fire. From the inside out.”

You don’t have to open your eyes, to roll over and drink in her features, to know. She has stepped back, crossed her arms, and donned a mask of attempted indifference.

“That came out wrong-”

“No, I think you have made yourself perfectly clear. I-”

It burns again, swelling from the pit of your stomach upward to the back of your throat. It hurts, how much your love is like a torrid flame.

She is your cure and your curse.

“I love you. So much. You consume me, like a fire that never dies. And it burns but… without you I feel like I’m dying.”

Nothing between you is simple. It reads like a textbook case but unfolds in the most unlikely of ways. At every turn you wonder if _this_ is the end and there is nothing more you can do.

“Oh, Maggie.”

Her fingers are cool, soothing against your skin.

It burns, from deep within, blistering and bubbling to the surface. And yet, its source is also its cure and beneath it you melt all the more in love.

It is terrifying.

“Love is many things, none of them logical. You make my heart leap in ways that are physically _impossible;_ you make reason fade and any distance feel like a lifetime apart.”

Sometimes you wish you didn’t believe in loyalties and promises and commitments. But as they stare back at you, an unending blaze, it burns and soothes with love and a logic that does not fit.

You wish it will never end.

Before this burning you felt empty, a vessel of cells and composition with no true purpose only an oath that defines a father but not you. Now, alight, you feel _alive_ and so interwoven the barrier between you and other seems _imperceivable_.

And Sydney Katz feels equally askew in this thing called love and maybe it’s selfish but it makes you feel a little less like dying and a lot more like loving.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Love is an unconditional commitment to an imperfect person.  
> To love somebody isn’t just a strong feeling.  
> It is a decision, a judgement and a promise.   
> 

The sound of fireworks echo in the distance.

It’s something like the quiet rumblings of a storm, a distant thought with the odd flashes you aren’t quite sure you see.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

You want to object, claim you were never _really_ hiding. Because hiding involves a sense of intention, an active effort to disguise or avoid. It is hard to call the open beach a disguise.

“Why did you leave?”

Leave is in reference to the house half a mile away where there are lights and sounds and too many people you don’t know. It’s a celebration, you know, but nothing about it feels celebratory. It just feels claustrophobic and overwhelming.

So maybe you were hiding. The beach was just a terrible spot.

“I’m so happy you chose to come but if you didn’t want to-”

It terrifies you how easy it is, to lean over and press your lips against hers. Because truth be told, you’ve never been fond of physical affection or felt the desire to simply be next to anyone. And if you’re being honest, you aren’t fond of noise or people but you’re fond of her. You never would have gone alone but with her, you find this odd ability to make an exception.

“I wanted to. I _want_ to. I just… I needed some air.”

When she leans into you, it’s like a warm blanket on a cold winter morning.

“Okay.”

The silence is welcoming and you know it’s not forced. She loves you, you don’t know how, and she respects you. Because silence isn’t her forte but it is yours. And you know how difficult it can be, when you’re out of your element.

As the waves lick at your toes, you remember growing up. Everyone you ever knew believed that love was some fifty-fifty split. You remember stories of _‘Well he better this’_ and _‘You have to that’_ and it always felt more like strategic warfare than love and long term commitment.

You remember lectures and pointers and accusations of what _'a real marriage’_ should be. Oddly enough, the finger pointers never stayed married and that ’ _real marriage’_ seemed all too fictitious.

“Sorry I disappeared. I meant to say something but you seemed busy and I just… it got overwhelming.”

When you were young, your mother always said a good wife was a perfect wife, one who supported her husband, had children and kept the house in order. You can’t remember a time when your parents actually spoke, open and honest, and your home didn’t feel like it conformed to some 1950s societal norm.

Be happy, find love, just do so in a way that doesn’t make us uncomfortable. Be open, be honest, but not too open and certainly not too honest. Be successful, but not too successful because _what if_ one day, you were more successful than your husband? How would he feel?

It was a mold, unknowingly restrictive, that made you squirm from the inside out. Because _what if_ you didn’t conform? What if you didn’t fall in line? What if being _you_ meant defying the love and the expectations your parents had unknowingly placed upon you?

You imagine it would feel lonely, if they turned their backs or could never look you in the eyes.

“Do you feel better now?”

The sand between your toes is grounding. Coupled with the cool ocean breeze and the rhythmic lull of the waves as they roll in, you feel the tension in your shoulders fade and the thundering of your heart return to its normal cadence.

“Yeah.”

Part of you, selfish and demanding, wishes this will never end. That it can be you and her and this ocean forever. But you know time is of the essence and that her choice to be here is in direct opposition to the reason you came.

It’s hard to leave a good impression when you turn heel at the first sight of discomfort. You know she’ll never force you but sometimes you wish she would. Then again, you have never responded well to demands and you think she knows that better than you.

Rising to your feet, you dust the sand from your clothes. The fireworks in the distance offer snippets of illumination but you don’t need light to know the curve of her jaw or the slope of her frame. You’ve committed every inch to memory, written over and over again in the walls of your heart.

“My heart is yours to fill or burst, to break or bury or wear as jewelry, whichever you prefer. Let’s go back in.”

Offering your hand is a habit, meticulously crafted, as you search for her. You always search for her, like your soul craves it, needs it, and without it, you wither into the in-between.

You love her, with ever fiber of your being and whomever speaks of fifty-fifty is a liar and it’s simply a ruse. Because to love is to give _everything_ with no expectation of anything in return. It is to commit when you are afraid or angry and perhaps even shaking to your core. It is to not settle down, to claim flaws as excuses, but to rise up and to face inadequacies.

Perfection is impossible, you see it in the way you fight and in the way it is easy to fall back on old patterns.

But perfections and discomforts are pathetic excuses and you refuse to die with them tattooed to your soul, hallmark lies of why you never tried. Because she chose you and in a sea of _what ifs_ and _maybes_ you refuse to throw half bests and sort ofs.

It isn’t the love your parents taught you nor is it the love friends, family and acquaintances taught you. No, this is a love you believe in even if it terrifies you and could leave you.

“I love you, you know that right?”

It terrifies you, how you know and how, down to your core, you believe her. Believe her love is true, believe she will fight, believe there is more to this than I love yous and a temporarily high emotion.

“Yes. And I pinch myself every time.”

But maybe it shouldn’t be so terrifying because it’s like a mirror to your soul.


End file.
